


Caffeine, Perchance to Dream

by AmyZini



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyZini/pseuds/AmyZini
Summary: Who knew there was an equation for figuring out if your barista has a crush? Certainly not Hux.





	Caffeine, Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violetwilson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetwilson/gifts).



> This academic paper analyzing the mating habits of certain Uptight Individuals is entirely the fault of one VioletWilson. 
> 
> This is set in the magical and addicting world of Only If You Want To. Go read it.
> 
> This takes place around the beginning of Chapter 15.

 

 **Chapter 1**

It seemed inconceivable, but Armitage Hux was really beginning to think his regular barista just might be sweet on him. 

Which didn’t entirely make sense (because he rarely inspired those kinds of feelings in people) (because he’d been coming through her line for months now) (because she never said more than a few polite words to him).

But lately, several things had changed. Individually, none could be regarded as definitive _proof (_ and Hux always required a high level of proof). But taken together…something was definitely up.

For starters, she was now writing his name incorrectly on his cup. This morning, it had been “Hugs”. Yesterday, she’d scrawled out “Huge” (and if that wasn’t a clear hint, he didn’t know what was…). (He was breathless with anticipation to find out what she’d come up with next).

He also suspected she’d begun to wear make-up. Always functionally attractive, her cheeks were now rosier, her lips glossier, and her eyes…they positively sparkled with new life. True, they still didn’t linger on him for an extended period of time (in fact, he sometime wondered if she were looking discreetly over his shoulder at something)…but still, it counted. (Circumstantial cases were built on multiple pieces of indirect evidence, after all).

But the most convincing argument that she harbored a preference for him was in the drinks themselves. For years he’d ordered a venti non-fat latte with a shot of vanilla and extra foam. Being a man of discipline, he would not allow himself to indulge in either the extra calories of whole milk (although he coveted it with every cell of his ginger being), or the added expense of paying for two shots of vanilla (it was _outrageous_ what they charged for an extra shot of flavor.) (However, this pricing strategy did make Starbucks stock a solid investment). Of late, his drinks had been brimming with all the rich creamy milk fat he secretly craved, and so much vanilla goodness…she had to be pouring in at least a dollar fifty worth of extra syrup. How she had divined his secret desires, he had no idea, but all this time she must have been covertly observing him and figured it out. Because there was no way she’d suddenly become _that_ careless or distracted. She must be trying to tell him something.

Hux stood a little straighter, pushing his chest out (only a very little) as the radiant barista pivoted to hand him his drink. She smiled, her eyes once again sliding up and over this face and…and over his shoulder, her smile becoming even more incandescent, if possible.  

This habitual failure to maintain eye contact was one of the few niggling details causing him to second-guess his “barista theory”. Perhaps, in the interest of gathering _all_ the relevant data, he should take a surreptitious look behind him. Just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything pertinent.

A casual turn of his head…nothing nothing nothing…wait, back up.

Oh.

_Oh._

Hux added a new fact to his store of evidence, and re-ran his calculations. [He then ran them one _more_ time, because as a Security Professional™, it was his job to be absolutely sure].

This new intelligence did, in fact, impact his theory substantially.

The coffee was abruptly bitter in his mouth.

As he stalked out of the Starbucks, he brushed past (but did not glare at…much) a slender man with silky brown hair, expressive eyes…and soul melting cheekbones that would make Diego Luna weep with envy. 

Barely nine in the morning, and Hux could already tell it was _not_ gonna be a good day. 

He prayed one of the guys had thought to pick up donuts. 

Ones with sprinkles.

**‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›**

 

Sometimes the apron was green, sometimes it was black, and on the nights he was _very, very_ good, it was an iridescent blue. But two things were always the same; she came bearing a perfectly crafted caramel macchiato, and beneath her apron she wore absolutely nothing.  (It was his dream, damn it, and if he wanted to overlook the potential sanitary issues, that was _his_ business).

But recently a new element had appeared, something that made the fantasy even more tantalizing. _She spoke._ And, _oh_ the things she said.

 _You’re the real supreme leader,_ she’d whisper, arching gracefully as she placed the steaming mug in his hand.

_No one writes security reports better than you._

A gentle hand would trace down the center of his chest.

 _Your extraction protocols make me want to tie you down and do filthy, filthy things…_ And then she would lean closer, her breath ghosting over his lips, the heat of her body igniting every nerve ending.

And he would reach out…touch her hair…curve his hand around the back of her neck. And he would…he would…

Wake up.

Most mornings he was at the gym by five.

**‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›**

 

Hux was good at compartmentalizing. He’d had a lifetime of practice, of discipline and self-denial, and working with Ren on a daily basis had honed those abilities to a razor’s edge. But it was intolerable that Kylo would choose _today_ of all days to flaunt his so-called “relationship”. Today, when his own aspirations had been so cruelly crushed, obliterated under the heel of the stilettos he was _sure_ (oh, he hoped) the heartless barista had hidden in the back of her closet….

His hand flexed convulsively around the coffee cup.

 _Ahem._ Moving on.

Item number one on Hux’s shit-to-deal-with-today-list.

What to do about Rey _._ The girl was a security risk, plain and simple. A flighty and an unnecessary distraction, and _oh god, what if Ren actually decided to keep her around for a while?_

They had a report to deliver, damn it.

_(But it’s important to look at all the angles here. Maybe she has a friend?)_

_(Even if she does, he’s pretty sure that last week she was the one who ate the last maple_ nut _bar. By rights, the maple bars are his. All of them. So-)_

Clearly it was time to run a SWOT analysis.

After he convinced Ren to make more coffee.

This morning’s cup just didn’t have its usual kick.

**‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›‹•›**

 

Once their meeting had finally wrapped, Poe and Finn had rushed off to set up a surveillance op north of the strip, and Ren and the girl had fucked off to parts unknown. Hopefully those unknown parts included a department store, because it was really unfair of Ren to expect them all to concentrate on work with a half-naked girl prone to sitting on counters hanging around. Well, he guessed it wouldn’t be a problem for _Finn_.

Really, his stress level was starting to be a problem. Endless laps in the pool just weren’t cutting it anymore. His body was craving something rigorous, something that would test both his mental and physical endurance, something that would drive him to the very pinnacle of pain. (Well, maybe just a few steps shy of the pinnacle).

He couldn’t fight it any longer. He knew what he needed, and he knew where to get it. And why should he be embarrassed? No one ever had to know.

He flipped open his phone and dialed from memory.

“Miss Vashneva?”


End file.
